South Col

This is not to say that us foreigners are incapable of doing it all. But it should go without saying that such an effort, without Sherpas fixing the icefall every day, without their cooking and carrying and placing camps and lugging oxygen and in general befriending a bunch of us in dire need of friendship, would be about 50 times harder. And realistically, we'd have to accept greater odds against getting to the tippy top.

The South Side reality today is that the Sherpas won't sit still for someone else to play at rope-fixing. They take pride in leading the charge on their "home field" and one must sit back in admiration and awe as they show what is possible there. But I have to say that in addition to my admiration, awe and gratitude...there was a little regret that I would not get to see some of the challenges the South Side must have presented in decades past.

"I am aware that those who have done so much more in the hills will once again be watching me carefully to see that I don't start believing the hype..."

This wasn't going to be the year I climbed Everest by "fair means" anyway, but I was surprised at the extent to which I was allowed to cheat. It should be noted that my regret and surprise didn't cause me to do anything that would have changed the situation (say, walking some parallel path 50 feet to one side of the established and maintained route in the Khumbu Icefall).

And I'm not even close to being one of those people who would reject Everest climbing because it isn't challenge enough for their talents. Plain and simple; I like Everest and wanted to know what the South Side was about. I wanted to know badly enough that I was easily willing to go with the flow and enjoy all possible advantages.

But, as I say, it may give me some trouble now as casual observers and the odd "fan" out there, without a broader knowledge of climbing history, put my third summit on level with achievements it is unrelated to. And I am aware that those who have done so much more in the hills will once again be watching me carefully to see that I don't start believing the hype that can drift around Everest repetitions.

What I figure keeps things nicely in balance, though, is when I go back to guiding on Mount Rainier. I'll meet a room full of novice climbers who won't be thinking of Everest. The Himalayas may as well be on Mars or Saturn for all they care. Mount Rainier and their safety and their chances for getting up high and down happy will be their prime concern as well as mine. And Mount Rainier itself, that quietly steaming volcano with the noisily falling rock and poorly thought out glaciers, will care about as much for my Everest triumphs as it does about the fact that I was really good at 10th grade math.

But if all goes well on a Rainier climb and I've proved myself in the here and now, then we can talk ancient Everest history in the bar afterward. Some folks will want that and I'm not above spinning a yarn for a gluten-free beverage at the end of a long, dry day.

"I am proud of my accomplishments on Everest, and proud as well, to have experienced and lived through my 'failures' there..."

This Everest fame can sometimes be a burden, but a laughable one. So much time spent telling people that it was no big deal, the rest of the time spent telling people it was the biggest deal. Best to get flexible on these ideas. I am proud of my accomplishments on Everest, and proud as well, to have experienced and lived through my "failures" there.

Who knows...life could be long, but I desperately hope it doesn't reach a length that will make me unable to connect the neurons needed to remember some details precisely. Details like the joy of watching the sun explode over the Himalayan horizon and onto the Balcony and me at 5am and 27,500 feet, or like the amped feeling I got from actually sinking my very own ice axe into Hillary's Step and knowing I could finally tackle it live and in person, or like the relief of seeing the tents of High Camp as I came in from the snow, cloud and gathering darkness at the day's end.

If May 22, 2000 and what I was lucky enough to see and feel that day ever fail to sustain me in my effort to deal with parking tickets and taxes, tricky restaurant floors, Bronx cheers and all the other trials, tribulations, setback and slights of low-altitude modern life, I hope some kind soul will just flip off my switches. Pull the plug. Hit Delete. Take me out, shoot me, and set my horses free. I believe I know what Everest has meant to me, and why it remains worth trying, but as to what my life up there should mean to anyone else? Damned if I can say...not sure I need to.

— Dave Hahn, MountainZone.com Correspondent